In the dead silence of a night in New York

She said the stars will always be there. I said its not the stars, its the meteor shower, and it happens only once a year.

She flopped back and sighed. We were laying on the roof underneath her bedroom window. The rolling New York farmlands were all around us. We could hear nothing but crickets and the wind through the trees. I put my arm behind her and pulled her toward me. My other arm pointed upward. Do you see that star?